


though i'm dying to (fall in love with you)

by captainsthve



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Alternate Reality, Angst, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Multiverse, Post-Canon, Relationship Study
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-19 10:47:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29998182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captainsthve/pseuds/captainsthve
Summary: “We are bound by our immortality. Our situation forced us together. If things were any different, would you still…”Joe blinks big brown eyes at him. “Still?”“Choose me?” Nicky finishes lamely. He feels silly for asking, in a way he hasn’t felt around Joe in a long time. Beyond that though, he really does want to know what Joe thinks about this, realizing distantly that thismaybe a bit of an insecurity he’s been harbouring unconsciously for a while.Or: The dimension-hopping AU wherein the universes conspire to show Nicky that in every life, in every world, he and Joe would always find and choose and love each other.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 35
Kudos: 150





	1. seashore

**Author's Note:**

> Title from _Make Out in My Car_ by Sufjan Stevens and Moses Sumney

Nicky has never felt quite so unsettled in his long, long, life.

The initial adrenalin of processing Booker’s betrayal, deciding his punishment and leaving him on that riverbank has worn off. Now they’re spending downtime getting Nile integrated to the team in a little cliffside house in Cape Breton, and Nicky finally has time to properly think through what happened to them.

The Atlantic ocean rages below them, whipped up into a frenzy by the summer storm outside. Rain lashes the windows, and Nicky can appreciate the way it mimics the never-ending loop of thoughts that tumble and crash through his head.

Mostly, he can’t stop thinking about Booker’s eyes in that lab, so honest in his misery: _What do you know of the weight of all these years alone?_

Their second night there, Nicky does his best to lose himself in Joe’s body. This he knows. The long line of Joe’s torso as he rides Nicky into the mattress, eyes screwed shut, that gorgeous head of curls thrown back in pleasure as he rolls his hips down to meet Nicky’s thrusts.

Joe opens his eyes, a thin ring of gold surrounding his blown out pupils. He’s grinning lazily down at Nicky, hips relentless in their slow, dirty grind. He’s so beautiful, the love of Nicky’s life.

Nicky bounces him in his lap playfully, just to see that grin widen. It works: Joe tightens his grip where he’s been bracing himself on Nicky’s chest and huffs out a laugh, dimples barely visible through his beard.

Nicky loves him so much it hurts.

( _You and Nicky always had each other, right?_ )

Joe shifts his knees, and drops his forearms to the bed, adjusting so that he can lean down and meet Nicky’s lips in a messy, open-mouthed kiss.

Nicky slides his hands up from gripping Joe’s hips to tuck one arm tight around his waist, the other moving to tug insistently at his curls. Joe makes a needy little noise into his mouth as he does, and suddenly Nicky wants nothing more than to draw out more of those sounds.

( _And all_ we _had was our grief_.)

Nicky tightens his grip then rolls them, sudden enough for Joe to make a surprised noise as his back hits the mattress. He adjusts quickly though, sinking back into the sheets with a groan and hitching his thighs around Nicky’s waist.

Nicky is seized with the urge to ensure that Joe comes first, that he gives his husband as much pleasure as he possibly can at that moment. He shifts the angle of his thrusts, looking for -

“Fuck! Ah, _Nicolò_.” There.

Nicky thrusts relentlessly against that spot, consumed with drawing noises from Joe that are louder than the thoughts in his head. Joe grips at Nicky’s shoulders and bicep, baring his neck temptingly, panting and moaning loudly at the onslaught of Nicky’s attention.

Without ceasing the roll of his hips into Joe, he leans down and _bites_ at the sensitive juncture of Joe’s neck and shoulder. Joe comes then, keening high, squeezing at Nicky’s shoulder hard enough to bruise. Nicky follows soon after, welcoming the blankness of his mind as he whites out with pleasure.

Once they’ve cleaned up, and stripped the sheets, and are cuddled up under the quilt in sweatpants, Joe takes advantage of their closeness to pop a kiss to the tip of Nicky’s nose. And because he knows Nicky so well, he asks: “What is it, my love? What’s running through that head of yours?”

Nicky doesn’t want to say it out loud. For all that it might quiet the buzzing in his head to pull those thoughts out, he can’t stand the thought of speaking Booker’s name into the quiet space between their mouths. Instead, Nicky responds with a question of his own. “Do you think we were meant to love each other?”

Joe’s hand twitches on his waist. “Of course I do.” He furrows his brow, “And I know you think so too.”

Nicky kisses the corner of Joe’s mouth firmly. “I do. Do you think that’s the only reason, though?”

“Is what the only reason?”

“We are bound by our immortality. Our situation forced us together. If things were any different, would you still…”

Joe blinks big brown eyes at him. “Still?”

“Choose me?” Nicky finishes lamely. He feels silly for asking, in a way he hasn’t felt around Joe in a long time. Beyond that though, he really does want to know what Joe thinks about this, realizing distantly that this _may_ be a bit of an insecurity he’s been harbouring unconsciously for a while.

Joe gapes at him, slipping into his mother tongue in surprise. “What kind of stupid question is that? _Habibi,_ of course I would choose you. I would always want you.”

“Yusuf, we met because we killed each other. It took almost two lifetimes of us constantly being around each other to get to know each other and fall in love.” Nicky’s not sure exactly why he’s arguing, except that it feels incredibly important that he _should_ at that moment. “If we had met as mortals, things would not be the same.”

“I can’t imagine a world in which we would not fall in love.” Joe says, then squints at him for a long moment, eyes crinkling in that endearing way of his. As cute as the expression is on him, it usually doesn’t bode well for Nicky, who is easily dissected under Joe’s knowing gazing.

Realization dawns. “This is about what _he_ said in the lab.”

Nicky sighs.

There’s another reason he hadn’t wanted to bring Booker up: their ways of dealing with his betrayal have clashed, in a way things rarely clash between them anymore. The truth of the matter is that Joe will most likely forgive Booker before Nicky does; his husband’s hurt and anger tends to burn big and bright, but fade quickly. Nicky knows that this holds especially true when it comes to Booker. Joe’s soft spot for him is what has caused this betrayal to hurt so much, but it’s also what will cause Joe to forgive long before the next century is up.

Nicky’s anger runs colder, under the surface, and he’s certain that he will hold onto it for much longer than Joe will. Nicky has the habit of becoming detached when he is truly upset with someone, and while it’s allowed him to analyze the situation in a quasi-objective sort of way, he’s unsure that a century will be enough for him to properly forgive and move on.

This has all meant that he and Joe have not had very productive conversations about Booker since they left him back in London.

Nicky tucks himself even closer to Joe, rubbing his hand up and down Joe’s back. If they’re going to talk about this now, Nicky would like to have Joe’s warm skin against his while they do so. Nicky speaks in a measured tone, “He was… right. In a way. We have always had each other. I have always had you.”

Joe exhales sharply at the words, but relaxes into Nicky’s touch. “Yes. But that doesn’t excuse him.”

Nicky shakes his head. “I’m not saying it does. I just think that it took me a lot of work to be someone worthy of your love. Sébastien did what he did because he was lonely and bitter.If I didn’t have you through it all, _tesoro_ , I would not be who I am today. I would not be the man you fell in love with.”

“I don’t think that’s true. You are not him, you would not do what he did. And I don’t think love is about _worthiness_.” Joe frowns, and brushes his thumb across Nicky’s jaw. “It hurts me to think you believe I wouldn’t fall in love with any and all versions of you. Would you not choose m-”

Nicky reaches up and presses his fingers lightly against Joe’s lips to cut him off. “Don’t even finish that sentence, my heart. Of course I would.” Any notion suggesting otherwise seems ridiculous to Nicky.

Joe kisses his fingers softly. “Then why would it not be the same for me?”

Nicky doesn’t know how to answer that, so in lieu of response he kisses Joe’s chin, then turns in his arms to settle into their usual sleeping positions. He hears Joe sigh softly behind him, but he curls himself around Nicky, holding him just a little tighter than normal. He speaks into the nape of Nicky’s neck, “I want to finish this conversation in the morning.”

Nicky tangles their fingers together over his chest. “In the morning.” Nicky agrees, “I promise.”

* * *

Nicky wakes with the sun, as he usually does. The conversation from the night before had led him into a restless sleep, and as he lays there curled up in Joe’s arms, he feels that maybe he had overreacted. Nicky turns in Joe’s arms, settling so he can stare at the way the early morning sun spills over Joe’s curls and lights them up to look like burnished gold.

Nicky especially feels guilty thinking that he hurt Joe with his own irrational insecurities, that he might have led Joe to think that Nicky doesn’t know how much Joe loves him. Nicky knows. How could he not? He can feel it in the way Joe holds him, can see it in Joe’s big, expressive eyes, and in every line of poetry that Joe writes or speaks for him.

Nicky traces his thumb along Joe’s slack bottom lip, and resolves to tell him all this when Joe wakes up. That won’t be for a while yet, though, so Nicky kisses Joe’s bearded cheek gently and slides himself out of his husband’s octopus-like grasp with practiced ease.

Nile and Andy are both still sleeping, which is just as well because Nicky is in the mood to take a walk alone along the nearby beach to clear his head before he goes back to bed to finish his conversation with Joe. The storm from the night before has cleared, leaving a clear, sunny morning in its wake. The sea is much calmer too, waves lapping lazily at the sandy shore.

Nicky walks up close enough for the tide to brush his feet, staring out at the horizon. The Atlantic ocean is not as familiar to him as the Mediterranean where Nicky grew up and spent much of his life’s adventures around, but the cool, salty air is a comfort all the same.

If Joe was here, he’d plaster himself to Nicky’s back, and tuck his face into the sun-warm skin of Nicky’s neck. He’d be sleepy and syrupy-sweet in the way Joe can’t help but be in the early morning, and Nicky would have no choice but to hold him close and press adoring kisses to any bit of him he could reach.

The thought makes him wish he was still in bed, so he turns back to head to the cottage, intent on tucking himself back into Joe’s arms. As he’s making his way back, he notices something bright sticking out of the sand.

He leans down to pick it up. It’s a seashell. It’s common in its colour for this beach - pretty swirls of purple and white - but rare in that it’s whole, not broken or even chipped. Nicky smiles, thinking that he’ll bring it to Joe as a little apology gift for how he’d left things the night before, along with a fresh coffee.

Before he can take another step, however, an odd rushing sound fills Nicky’s head, and a dizzy feelingthrums in his chest, alarmingly intense and overwhelming. Nicky clutches the shell in his hand to ground himself, hard enough that he cuts the meat of his palm on it. A drop of his blood slides over it, marring the bright colours of the shell.

_Fuck_ , Nicky thinks emphatically. His knees hit the sand, and he passes out before the rest of his body even hits the ground.

* * *

Nicky wakes up to the sound of a horse braying, something clattering to the ground, followed by a man cursing loudly in Derja. Nicky bolts up so fast, he feels a little nauseous. He whips his head around, finding that he’s _not_ laying on the beach like he’d expected, nor is he in the Cape Breton safehouse.

No. Nicky is in what looks bizarrely like a room in an inn, the kind he hasn’t seen in centuries. He’s sitting on a simple cot on a mattress that feels like it’s filled with straw, he spots a small basin filled with water and a travelling trunk in the corner of the room.

If Nicky didn’t know any better, he’d say that it looks eerily similar to the type of room he and Joe would stay in, back when they were Yusuf and Nicolò, before they’d even been more than friends. However, Nicky _does_ know better than that, because this type of place hasn’t existed for a very, _very_ , long time.

He gets up and strides quickly to the door, and feels absolutely bewildered to find that he _is_ in an inn. A man, who, like everyone else in the room, is dressed like it is the 11th century, meets his eye and asks in Sabir, “Oh, good day, sir. Would you like us to bring the morning meal to your room?”

He must be dreaming. It’s been at least 200 years since he’s heard someone speak Sabir. He remembers enough to stutter, “Uh, no. Thank you.” Then he turns to what looks like the door leading out of this inn and away from this baffling situation.

He rushes out onto a busy street, and in his haste, collides heavily with a man. They both stumble and grab each other's arms to steady one another. “Apologies,” the man says politely, “I didn’t see you there.”

Nicky’s heart skips a beat. He would know that voice from the grave.

He looks up and takes in the man still holding Nicky’s arms: long, well-kept dark curls brush his shoulders. Silver earrings glint in the morning sun. A small smile reveals two dimples. And those eyes: brown, long-lashed, and always lit up with a bit of a twinkle.

Nicky feels dizzy again. “ _Joe?_ ”


	2. tree trunk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> big shoutout to george aka [@marwankenzarisgaylittlearring](https://marwankenzarisgaylittleearring.tumblr.com/)! this chapter would not exist without all your help and letting me ramble in the dms!! check out his incredible fics [here](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GayLittleEarring/pseuds/GayLittleEarring/works)! yusuf’s gay little earrings in this chapter are dedicated to you <3

Nicky wants to take back his exclamation as soon as it leaves his mouth because, well, is it Joe? The man standing in front of him looks exactly like the love of his life but about ten years younger. He’s just as tall, but a little lankier and the lines around his eyes and mouth are less pronounced. He holds himself with a lightness that Nicky rarely gets to see on his husband.

The man cracks a charming grin. Nicky’s mouth runs dry. “Ah, I’m sorry, I don’t understand. Do you speak Sabir?”

Nicky does his best to stop gaping like an idiot. “Yes. Yes, I do.”

“My name is Yusuf. You are?”

So it is Yusuf. Somehow, though, it is a younger version of him. One who doesn’t know who Nicky is.

He clears his throat. “Nicolò.” ‘Nicky’ doesn’t seem quite right here.

“Well, Nicolò,” Yusuf says with a smirk, “if I let you go right now, will you be able to stand on your own?”

Nicky starts, realizing abruptly that he’s still clutching at Yusuf’s arms. He lets go hastily. “Oh! Of course, apologies.”

Yusuf’s eyes linger where Nicky’s cheeks are turning red, and his grin grows, unnecessarily delighted to have made Nicky blush. “It’s no problem. Are you here with the crew that brought the shipment from Genoa?”

In actuality, Nicky has no idea what he’s doing here- or where exactly ‘here’ is (or _when_ here is); the people, and the language being spoken around him tells him he’s somewhere in the Maghreb- Tunis maybe, based on the local Derja he heard earlier.

Part of him is still convinced that he’s cooked up some elaborate dream. It feels so real, though. The street they’re standing on is loud and lively, he can smell spiced lamb wafting over from a nearby food stand, and the back of his neck is sweating from where the sun is beating down on him.

Lacking a better response, Nicky says, “Ah, is it so obvious I’m not from around here?”

Yusuf laughs, exposing the long line of his neck, and Nicky’s heart flutters.

It would make sense if this was a dream, given how particularly handsome Yusuf looks right now. He’s finely dressed, robes regal in an understated way, obviously well-made and tailored to fit him just right. Nicky has always liked Yusuf’s curls long like this, and the silver hoops adorning his ears suit him so well.

Yusuf just looks… happy. Well-adjusted and carefree. To Nicky, who met Joe at a decidedly not-carefree time in their lives, the whole tableau is intoxicating.

“Just a little,” Yusuf says, “Though, Mahdia is a port city, so we get people from all over here. I’m from a merchant family myself so I get to meet with a lot of interesting people.”

They are in Tunis, then. If so, Yusuf’s earlier comment about Nicky travelling from Genoa makes little sense.

At this point, Genoan-Tunisian were fraught, to say the least. If Nicky _has_ somehow travelled back in time - _what the fuck_ \- then some quick calculations based on Yusuf’s apparent age tells him he’s landed in a time that should be a few years _after_ the Genoan-Pisan attack on the Mahdian ports. Their current trading relationship would not be so friendly, nor would Yusuf be commenting on his presence here so lightly.

So, not only has he travelled back in time, he’s travelled back in a timeline that’s not even his own. Yusuf takes in what must be a panicked look on Nicky’s face, and his voice lilts kindly. “If you’ve not been here before, I’d be honored to show you around.”

Nicky hesitates, taking a moment to consider the invitation. He really should be figuring out a way to get out of here, and back to his own reality. He opens his mouth to politely decline, fully intending to go back to his room and test his hypothesis that going back to sleep will fix this whole situation, but then Yusuf tucks a stray curl behind his ear, and turns a sweet, hopeful look on him, as if he wants nothing more than to spend the day playing tour guide for a stranger.

Nicky’s not entirely sure how it happens but he suddenly hears himself say, “I would like that.”

Nicky is unable to regret his words when Yusuf’s answering smile shines brighter than the morning sun. “Wonderful!” he exclaims, “Let’s start with something to eat, shall we? Although not here, the best market is on the other side of town.”

Yusuf guides him through the streets with a friendly hand on his elbow, chattering cheerfully the whole time and pointing out different things as they walk. Nicky has been to Mahdia hundreds of times throughout his lifetime, but he’s nevertheless content to listen to this Yusuf tell him about his hometown. The love he has for the city is hopelessly endearing, and though Nicky knows he should be looking out for any clues about how and why he’s ended up here, he’s mostly distracted by Yusuf’s animated tone and his elegant hands as they gesture wildly to illustrate his anecdotes.

Nicky listens and nods along, wary of speaking too much and giving something away. Yusuf is undeterred by his silence, though Nicky does see a bit of pride on Yusuf’s face whenever he succeeds in making Nicky smile or laugh with one of his stories.

Eventually, Yusuf leads him to a vendor that he claims makes the tastiest _brik_. The stand is run by a young man about Yusuf’s age, with high cheekbones and a rakish smile that widens when he sees Yusuf.

He greets them in Arabic, and Yusuf returns it but then switches to Sabir, presumably for Nicky’s benefit. “Aimen, this is my friend Nicolò from Genoa. I’ve promised him the best _brik_ he’ll ever have.”

Aimen nods politely to Nicky in greeting, then turns his attention back to Yusuf. “Are you making promises you can’t keep, my friend?”

“Not at all! They truly are the best.” Yusuf’s smile slants mischievously, “Don’t tell my mother I said that, though, she still thinks _her_ mother’s recipe is the best.”

Aimen laughs, and looks up at Yusuf through his lashes with dark eyes. “I won’t tell her.”

He wraps up and hands over two savoury pastries, but when Yusuf reaches out to take them, Aimen grips his hand gently. He glances surreptitiously at Nicky, then switches to Arabic and says to Yusuf softly, “If you’re able to get away tonight, I could rent us a room at the inn we met up at last time.”

Nicky, who has spoken Arabic - and specifically the local dialect - for over 900 years, understands Aimen’s proposition perfectly. Nicky does his best to school his expression from one of amusement to something more neutral when Yusuf blushes and looks over at him.

Yusuf responds in Arabic too, voice low, “I’m not able to meet tonight,” he smiles apologetically to soften his statement, “Another time?”

“Another time,” Aimen agrees. Nicky can’t help but commiserate with the wistful expression on Aimen’s face - pining after Yusuf al-Kaysani is a feeling he knows intimately.

As they walk away, Nicky goes to take a bite of the _brik_ but Yusuf stops him with a hand to his wrist, “Wait,” he exclaims, “Not yet! These are best enjoyed with a good view.”

Yusuf is so earnest about it that Nicky can’t help but grin, “Is that right?”

“Yes,” he says, dimples making an appearance, “and I know the perfect spot.”

With that, he keeps his gentle grasp on Nicky’s wrist and leads him through the streets, weaving and ducking through the crowds with ease, looking back every now and then with bright eyes to reassure him, “Almost there!”

In fact, the walk takes them quite a ways further to the edge of the city, almost to the port, but Yusuf looks so excited that Nicky can’t think to comment on it. He’s always been more than happy to be led by Yusuf.

They make their way up a fairly steep incline. At the top of the hill, there is a large tree, with a wide gnarly trunk and hanging branches that shade a grassy area.

Yusuf settles himself cross-legged on the grass, then waves him over, “Come sit, I promise the long walk was worth it just for the shade.” He pats the spot next to him.

Nicky settles down next to him and teases, “Will you finally let me eat now?”

Yusuf grins, bright and effusive. “Go ahead,” he says, “But take in the view while you do.”

Nicky turns his gaze to where Yusuf is pointing, sucking in a breath when he sees the turquoise waters of the Mediterranean, afternoon sun bouncing off of it, making it glitter and shine. The sky above is clear, shockingly blue and endless. The harbour is also visible, and the little hill they’re on is close enough to see the dock workers and sailors milling about.

Nicky is not necessarily a nostalgic person - he has little reason to be with the person he considers _home_ always at his side - but the picture before him makes him ache for a time long passed. A time he’s suddenly found himself stuck in. 

Nicky turns back to see Yusuf looking at him expectantly, the sun filtering through the tree branches and alighting on his curls, sparking them gold and amber; the sight makes Nicky miss the Joe he left behind in bed only hours ago with a sudden fierceness.

“It’s beautiful,” Nicky says, swallowing the lump in his throat, “Thank you for bringing me.”

Yusuf looks pleased. “You’re welcome. Now, eat your _brik._ ”

They eat in comfortable silence. The food really is delicious: crispy pastry filled with flaky, savoury fish and just enough harissa to warm the inside of Nicky’s mouth pleasantly. Nicky looks over at Yusuf to tell him so, but finds him staring at his own hands, biting his lip in that way he does when he has something to say but doesn’t quite know how to say it. It’s best to let him gather his thoughts when he’s like this and let him phrase his musings how he’d like to, so Nicky just gives him a small encouraging smile when Yusuf meets his gaze.

After a moment, Yusuf says, “This is my favorite place to spend time alone in the city. I love my family but there’s so _many_ of them, and it’s nice to have a quiet spot that’s all my own.”

Nicky wants to say ‘ _I know._ ’ As much as Joe thrives off of being around a crowd and indulging in the boisterous side of his nature, Nicky knows he appreciates the space and silence to be with his thoughts just as much.

Instead, he says, “I can understand that.” Then, as the thought occurs to him, “You didn’t mind bringing someone you met less than an hour ago up here?”

For some reason, that makes Yusuf blush. “Ah, well, I thought you would appreciate it.”

Nicky tilts his head, “You understand me so well after such a short time?”

Yusuf bites his lip again, then blurts out in a rush, “I’ve seen you before. When you first sailed in a few days ago.” He looks away, fiddling with one of his earrings. “I came up here to draw, and I saw your ship come into the port. You were helping to unload crates and I was…” Yusuf meets his gaze, looking as if it’s taking all his courage to finish his sentence, “drawn to you. I wanted to know you. It was a happy coincidence that I ran into you this morning.” 

Yusuf’s words crack something open in Nicky’s chest. He and Joe had met in the height of a brutal, ugly, battle, and their attraction to each other was most definitely not immediate. It had grown slowly, into something beautiful and long-lasting that Nicky knows he could not live without. He’d thought Yusuf beautiful, of course, but that had not belied the circumstances of their first encounter.

The idea that the Yusuf in this reality noticed _him_ and wanted to know him, of all the people coming in and out of this busy port, is so sweet and unexpected that it makes Nicky want to cry. 

He settles for asking a slightly selfish question instead: “Why me?”

“Oh, well,” Yusuf starts, looking shy and doe-eyed. Nicky has to physically stop himself from crawling into his lap and kissing him breathless. “You have a, um… striking profile.” As he says this, his eyes trace over Nicky’s shoulders and arms. Nicky tries to hide his smirk, thinking about how Joe often waxed poetic about the breadth of his shoulders (they were the sort of poems that tended to turn out filthier than Joe’s other ones).

Yusuf continues. “And I could tell you were kind.”

“Kind?”

“Yes. You know that young boy who you caught trying to pickpocket you? Instead of reprimanding or scolding him, I saw that you gave him some coin and some food and sent him on his way.”

“Surely you would have done the same.”

Yusuf shrugs, “Maybe. But the point is that _you_ did it, and it gave me a little window into your soul.” He reaches across the grass and holds Nicky’s hand in his, and in a soft and sincere voice, he says, “I could tell you have a beautiful heart.”

Nicky’s breath catches. He thinks about the fear he had shared with Joe the previous night: that if he and Joe had not met and gotten to know each other the way they did, he didn’t think he would be someone Joe could fall in love with. With Yusuf looking at him like this, telling him how he’d felt about a Nicolò he hadn’t even met yet, Nicky’s insecurity is a little harder to hold onto.

A breeze ruffles Yusuf’s curls, and one falls into his eyes. Nicky reaches out and tucks it behind his ear instinctually; Yusuf exhales sharply as he does, swaying closer, long eyelashes fluttering. His gaze drops to Nicky’s lips. “Nicolò,” he says hoarsely, “Forgive me for my forwardness, but I would very much like to kiss you right now.”

There are about a hundred reasons, Nicky thinks, that he should say no. A hundred reasons he should get up and scurry back to the inn and figure out a way to get back to his own universe. But all those reasonspale in comparison to the way Yusuf is looking at him right now- so hopefully, so tenderly, like Nicky could break his heart with the wrong word.

He closes the small gap between them, and presses a gentle, close-mouthed kiss to Yusuf’s full lips.

He means to keep it chaste, he really does, but then Yusuf makes a small, deliciously breathy whimper and opens his mouth against Nicky’s, and Nicky follows the natural impulse to slide his tongue into Yusuf’s mouth. Yusuf responds eagerly in kind, leaning in closer and stroking his free hand up Nicky’s arm and gripping his shoulder.

Nicky gives into the urge to bury his hand in Yusuf’s hair, and then curls his tongue in the way he knows his Joe likes- sure enough, Yusuf moans lowly and shivers bodily against him. Nicky realizes that if he lets this go any farther, he’s going to ravish Yusuf right here on this grassy hill, so he squeezes Yusuf’s hand in his and pulls away.

Yusuf looks more than a little dazed, and he stares at Nicky silently for a moment with wide, glassy eyes. Nicky finds it gratifying to note that even after 900 years, _his_ Joe often looks just as dazed as this Yusuf after a particularly good kiss.

“Um, uh, thank you,” Yusuf says, then immediately scrunches his nose and stutters, “Not thank you- well yes, _thank you_ , but what I mean to say is that, that was-”

Nicky cuts off his admittedly adorable rambling, brushing a knuckle against Yusuf’s jaw, “I know what you mean,” he says simply.

Yusuf sighs with a dreamy sort of smile, turning to kiss Nicky’s wrist lightly. He opens his mouth to respond, when they both notice some commotion down at the harbour.

Yusuf squints up at the sun, exclaiming, “Oh! I lost track of the time. I promised my father I would return home after _Dhuhr_ , but I didn’t think I would run into you.” Yusuf gets up, and pulls Nicolò up to stand across from him.“I have to pray and return home but can I-” he ducks his head and says quieter, “Can I see you again, Nicolò?”

Nicky’s stomach drops, realizing that he can promise no such thing. “Yusuf,”he says, “I don’t know that I-”

“Just,” he interrupts, “Just think about it, yes? I know that this isn’t _easy_ but I think that you’re worth it. I think that we could be worth it.”

Nicky’s smiles fondly, despite himself. ‘ _My beautiful romantic_ ’ he thinks, ‘ _in every world._ ’

Yusuf grins broadly at Nicky’s expression, placing a hand on his chest theatrically. “Not another word, Nicolò. That smile will be enough to sustain me until we meet again.” He kisses Nicky’s knuckles quickly, winking. “I must go. But I’ll find you again.”

And with that, Yusuf hurries down the hill, towards the nearest mosque. Nicky watches him go, heart heavy. Though this is not _his_ Joe exactly, Yusuf’s presence had been comforting and steadying. Now that he’s gone, Nicky feels himself descending into a spiral. What is he doing here? How does he get home, back to his husband, back to his family?

He tries to breathe evenly and calm himself. Panicking will do him no good here.

He leans back against the tree trunk, trying to think rationally and methodically, replaying the events of the morning in his head. When he rests a hand against the trunk of the tree, he feels deep groove marks against his fingers.

Nicky turns to look, and sees that there are different carvings in the tree. Most of them are etchings in Arabic script - pieces of poetry, lines from the _Quran_ , a name here or there- but there’s one that looks more like a symbol or a small drawing. It’s less crude than the rest of the carvings, as if someone had taken their time to properly render it onto this tree trunk. Peering closer, Nicky realizes that it quite clearly looks like a … seashell.

Nicky is arrested with an abrupt sense of deja vu, that doesn’t fade even when he blinks and shakes his head. Instead, it grows stronger, nauseating, causing his head to fizz and his knees to buckle. Nicky’s vision blurs, and as he is about to lose consciousness, he can only hope that he’ll wake up back on that beach, in his own universe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alternate titles for this chapter include: 'yusuf al-kaysani's hot girl summer' and 'yusuf shoots his shot with the hot rugged sailor he's been crushing on from a wistful distance'

**Author's Note:**

> Multiverse AUs are my absolute favourite, so this is very fun for me <3 I have this story drafted out, but I’m very open to suggestions for universes people might want to see!! Leave your ideas in the comments or hit up my ask-box [here ](http://hziersmoon.tumblr.com/ask)
> 
> Hope you’re enjoying it so far!! Please feel free to leave a kudos and comment if you are! The upload schedule for this should be every week or so 💌
> 
> Find me on tumblr [@hziersmoon](http://hziersmoon.tumblr.com)


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